Pleasure and Pain
by Lorelei Lee
Summary: Sherlock saved Irenes life. Now he collects his debt. But not in a way Irene had expected.


**Title**: Pleasure and Pain

**Fandom**: Sherlock (BBC)

**Author**: lorelei_lee1968 (Lorelei Lee)

**Pairing**: Sherlock/Irene, Sherlock/John (implied)

**Rating**: Explicit, NC-17, NSFW

**Warnings**: Pegging, dub-con, requested rape, military riding crop, whipping, forced orgasm.

**Summary**: Sherlock saved Irenes life. Now he collects his debt. But not in a way Irene had expected.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own these characters, and am making no profit from their use

Betaed and brit-picked by the wonderful **mygoldenbuttons **(from livejournal)

Thank you! Thank you very much!

* * *

**Pleasure and Pain**

A few hours after Sherlock Holmes rescued her from her certain death, Irene Adler emerged from the bathroom in the white bathrobe the hotel provided with the room Sherlock had booked for them.

The hotel was far from Karachi and Irene's spirits were rising again. Tomorrow, after a good night's sleep she'll be up and away... once again plotting mischief against somebody else in a different part of the world.

Her eyes fell on the dark-haired man who lounged on the king-size bed. She was surprised that Sherlock – also dressed in a hotel-bathrobe – was still here.

„You're still here." she said without voicing her puzzlement too clearly.

Sherlock didn't move.

„I saved your life." he said calmly.

Irene's eyebrows went up.

„Here to collect your debt?" she asked with a wicked smile, knowing that the answer won't involve the exchange of bodily fluids. She let her eyes trail over his face and his body – hidden underneath the bathrobe... Such a shame he wasn't interested.

„A debt. Yes. You owe me..." He got up and moved in her direction. He only stopped when his body was nearly touching hers. „... a favour." he finished his sentenced in a low whisper near her ear.

Her breath hitched just a fraction. It was the surprise, she told herself, not the beginning of arousal that made her heart beat a tiny bit faster.

„What do you have in mind?" she whispered back with a sensual timbre in her voice.

For a moment he only looked at her. Unblinking. Calculating. Thoughtful. Then he must have come to a conclusion, because he went back to the bed and pulled a small suitcase out from under the bed. He put in on the bed, opened it, took something out and came back to her... two familiar looking items in his hand.

A strap-on and a military crop.

Now he really had her attention.

She took the crop from his hand.

„You want me to use these on you?"

He licked his lips. Suddenly he seemed unsure, nervous but determined.

He nodded.

„In exchange for saving my life?" she asked and let the crop slide through her hands. The slightly padded leather was smooth and warm. She knew that this special whip could hurt like hell but won't break the skin as easily as a cane. Smart choice.

„Yes." He sounded a little bit breathless.

Irene smiled.

„Agreed. What do you want me to do?"

„Really? You have to ask?" he said mockingly. „Make a guess."

She smirked and took the strap-on out of his hands.

„First the crop, then the fuck. First pain, then pleasure."

A small, tight smile crossed his lips. He shook his head.

„No. Pleasure first."

„That's..." she hesitated. „... unusual." Then she understood. „The pleasure you think he won't give you... the pain... the punishment for wanting him in the first place."

He said nothing, but the desperate, sad look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. She had been right. Her hand went up to his cheek, but he turned away and bowed his head.

„Don't..." It sounded like a plea. „I don't want... I don't need your pity."

_„No"_, she thought._ „You're wanting absolution."_

**oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo**

_„How do you want your pleasure? Sweet or rough?"_

_His short laughter had been mirthless._

_„You know him. Why do you even have to ask?"_

_„Soft and sweet then... killing you with kindness."_

_He had nodded and had shrugged carelessly out of his bathrobe. Underneath he had been completely naked._

She fastened the buckles of the strap-on around her hips and then suggested that he should lick and suck the artificial cock.

He did so – without hesitation and with closed eyes. She knew exactly who it was he was fantasizing about. Therefore she didn't talk much and when she did, she lowered her voice. She was careful not to destroy his fantasy. She encouraged him with sweet words, praised his beauty and his skills.

At the sight of him – on his knees, those beautiful lips stretched around the rubber dildo, his cupid's bow still pronounced, spit gathering at the corner of his mouth, slowly dribbling down his chin, his cheeks flushed – she felt a small flutter of arousal in her nether regions. God... he was simply breathtaking. So sweet... so submissive... so devoted.

Later she let him kneel on the bed. Legs spread wide while she prepared him very carefully with her fingers. She stretched his opening with lube while whispering sweet nothings to him. How gorgeous he was, how responsive... His balls hung heavy between his legs... vulnerable... tempting. But she didn't slap them. Not yet. For now she petted them gently. His cock was already hard, its tip glistening with precome. Another temptation.

She fucked him with slow, long thrusts. He was not very vocal, he only sighed and moaned a little. But he was relaxed and seemed to enjoy himself immensely.

When she finally got hold of his cock it only took a few strokes before he shuddered and spilt his come on the bedsheets.

„John..." he moaned.

**OooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo**

_„And how would you like your punishment?" she had asked._

_„Rough. Immediate. Don't give me time to breath. Make it hurt."_

_„How long... or... how many do you want?"_

_„I don't care. But only on my arse and my thighs. Hit me until you think it's enough. And then give me twenty more."_

_„As you wish"_

As soon as he climaxed, she pulled out, and stepped away from him. His last moan still hung in the air, as the first hit with the crop cuts across his arse cheeks.

For the next 15 minutes the only sounds in the room were his laboured breathing and the loud slap of the crop on his flesh. He didn't cry out and took the beating with something like grace.

Irene was delighted and just a little bit impressed how he kept silent and completely still. She didn't held back and hit his arse with all her strength. Although she did hope he would break down before her arm – a little rusty due to less practice during the last months – gave out.

But soon there were the first signs of discomfort, of hurt... real hurt. His legs began to tremble and there was a little twitch as though he tried to avoid the next blow. He was as good as she thought. He didn't back down. He held still, awaiting the kiss of the crop on his reddened arse.

Soon his shoulders and legs began to tremble with the effort of holding still – of not jerking away. Cold sweat glowed on his skin and the muscles of his back cramped convulsively. The first soft painful cries escaped his lips and Irene stopped for a moment. Then she gave him the last twenty blows he had demanded.

When she was finished, she threw away the crop with something like relief. It had been no fun to beat his arse into a swollen, red mess and she didn't understand why. Usually she get off on something like this... but with Sherlock it had been different. It had felt like some tedious chore and she hadn't been able to enjoy it although she occasionally had dreamed about Sherlock surrendering to her in exactly this fashion.

She got angry and that was good because now she would need all the anger she could get to do the next thing he had requested from her.

**oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo**

_„And then..." he had bitten his lip, had been looking away. „After you're finished with the crop... rape me."_

_„What?"_

_„You heard me!" his head had whipped around, his eyes had locked with hers. There was a fierce shine lurking in the depths of his large, wide-blown pupils. „Rape me. Force me. Humiliate me. Taint me. Make me come again... but without any pleasure... make me..." he had stopped, his voice had dropped to a whisper. „Make me filthy... worthless."_

_She had looked at him for a moment._

_„I understand." she had said finally. Oh god – how she understood. He needed to feel worthless so he would never try to act upon his feelings for him. He needed to feel filthy so HE will become unreachable for him. He needed to be a tainted man... not worthy of the pure doctor's love... not worthy enough for the saint soldier..._

Rape games weren't new to her. Her clients had requested it more times than she had thought they would. Usually she was able to enjoy these games. The power she gained with this special role play always made her dizzy with lust. But with Sherlock there were no lustful feelings.

Why had everything with him to be so different? And suddenly she knew it. With him there was no role play. To him it wasn't a game.

He won't enjoy it. He won't get off on it. There won't be a _high_ for him.

All he wanted was pure raw agony as a penance for his alleged sins.

She hesitated.

Once again she looked at the angry red welts which covered his arse and his thighs in abundance. His arms had given out and his upper body had sunk onto the bed with his legs still spread wide.

She had to close eyes. She told herself that she owed him. Owed him big time. He wanted it. It was her price to pay. But he looked so lost... was already so abused... She gritted her teeth. No. She won't back down and remain in his debt. That would be worse than anything else.

„Up with you – you wanton bitch!" She shouted. Without joy she observed how he winced and tried to get properly on his knees again. „You need to be much faster than that!" She grabbed his hips with so much force, that she knew there would be additional bruising in the morning. She positioned him and without hesitation or preparation she penetrated him brutally.

His first pained cry and the following, weak whimpers were something she won't be able to forget for the rest of her life.

**oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo**

After his second – very painful – orgasm she whipped him some more. When he was a sobbing mess, she finally stopped, turned him around on his back and spat on his face.

He took it, like he took everything she had done to him in the last two hours... he took it with an air of distant grace. The whole time he hadn't flinched, he hadn't begged, he hadn't struggled.

She turned away from him, because she didn't want him to see the tears which escaped her eyes. Why did she feel so sorry for him? He had wanted it, requested it even! Angrily she wiped the salty fluid from her face and turned back to him.

„Still here, you filthy slut?" she barked. „Can't get enough of my cock up your ass? Go away, bitch. I'm tired of you... you're repulsive. Dress yourself and leave. And no shower for you. No water. No soap... for the next 24 hours. You need a constant reminder of how dirty you are. Dirty. Filthy. Worthless!"

She saw him close his eyes. She saw him swallow. Something escaped his lips. A moan? A sob?

„God... look at you." she snorted. „You are such a slut. A worthless, filthy slut. Now... tell me... what are you?"

„Filthy... worthless..." he replied with a small, broken voice, which was hoarse from crying. Only then he brought his hands up to his face.

She saw that his hands were shaking badly. She had to look away.

After a short moment he heard him move and she looked back at him.

He sat on the bed and stared at the wall without really seeing.

For once his walls had been torn down. He had been stripped completely of his defences. She clearly saw the shame in his eyes. The shame for his longing, the need to be loved, cherished even – and the bitter knowledge that his dreams won't come true. But overall there was something like acceptance... and an overwhelming sadness that nearly broke her heart in two.

„Thank you." he whispered.

Now it was her turn to say: „Don't..."

He stood up and put on his clothes.

She watched him. And she noticed that with every added layer his armour regenerated itself. When he was dressed, his protection was back in place and he looked like nothing had happened. His face, his eyes were back to an unreadable mask.

But when their eyes met, for the glimpse of a second, the overwhelming sadness was back.

„Thank you." he repeated. „I trust you with this secret."

It was a promise, a threat, a plea. Before she could do more than blink, he was gone.

For a long minute she stared at the door.

Tears welled up in her eyes again and now she let them flow freely down her face.

What a crazy world!

A world in which the most brilliant man she had ever met, considered himself unworthy of a simple feeling like love.

**oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo**

**the End**

picture of a military riding crop:

www . ekkia . de / common / imges_perso / thumbs / 0_20426-951_106_002_c_300x300 . jpg

(ignore the blanks...)


End file.
